Page 54 of A Mile of Ocean

Red-haired Savannah’s cheeks turned a rosy pink at the compliment. “I’m fond of him, too.”

“I know. Your being out here says it all. I admire you for it. You didn’t have to volunteer to be a part of this craziness, but you did. I believe you’re here for Trent. He’s a good person. I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother. Just take care of each other out there on the trail. Watch his back.”

“Count on it. You watch yours. He’d be devastated if this all goes south and something bad happens to anyone else.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

Chapter Sixteen

The night enveloped them like a thick veil as they fanned out across the ranch, each team moving with precision and caution. Trent and Savannah rode with purpose as they headed east.

Trent studied the horizon as if searching for answers among the rolling hills. “I wish I had more to go on than a bunch of images from a drone. There has to be something we overlooked.”

“Sometimes the smallest detail can be the most crucial and the one thing that’s missed.”

“I saw a few places on the drone video that he might be hiding, places that the drone couldn’t possibly pick up if someone had been trying to evade detection.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We spend tonight staking them out. Wait for any sign of him. If he doesn’t show up, we move on to the next location.”

Savannah sucked in a skeptical reply, biting her tongue. Instead of voicing her concerns, she heard herself say, “Okay, lead on.”

The moment hung between them, thick with unspoken fears and apprehension.

The precocious June breeze whispered its secrets, drifting and swirling, fanning hot embers of doubt. The rhythmic sound of their horses’ hooves on the dusty ground proved a distraction,a soothing backdrop so they wouldn’t spend too much time on what lay ahead.

In the distance, a lone coyote howled into the night, its mournful cry echoing through the darkness. Trent’s grip on the reins tightened, his jaw set as he guided them through the rugged terrain, wondering if he was leading them into dangerous quicksand.

They reached the first location, nothing more than an old open-air cowshed that used to be a feeding station. “Back in the 1950s, the former owner of this patch used toallow his cattle access to Sweetwater Creek. That’s it off to the right of the hillside.”

“Yuck. That can’t be good for the water supply.”

“It wasn’t. It’s a breeding ground for biological contamination, the wrong sediment buildup, and fecal material, and it contributes to excess nutrients like phosphorous and nitrogen that lead to harmful ecological problems down the road. Needless to say, we don’t do that anymore. Instead, we pump water up land to troughs away from the water supply.”

“You really would’ve made a great farmer. Is that why this area isn’t used for cattle?”

“Exactly. We use the northern pastureland exclusively for that while encouraging them to drink from the stream that comes naturally to them. It’s more like a brook, actually. But we don’t want them to linger for long periods in it. Truth be told, they only spend about five percent of their day standing in the water. Besides, we don’t use it for a water supply.”

“Like Sweetwater Creek. Does the brook have a name?”

“As a kid, my dad nicknamed it the Rio Verde.”

“Because there isn’t a river anywhere else on the property. Am I right?”

He grinned. “Exactly. You’re observant. How did you know that?”

“Your granddad mentioned it in January when I asked to see the river green. Hence, Rio Verde. He said the ranch name had something to do with how he got into ranching in the first place. You touched on it during the eulogy.”

“Green River back in Wyoming,” Trent said. “It’s a small town where he worked on the Triple C in the 1960s. It’s where he and Duchess first got together. It’s where my dad was born. Look,I don’t think we should hang around here much longer. The cowshed is too out in the open for him. There’s nowhere to hide. Let’s move on to my second suspicious spot.”

They rode until they came toan old, dilapidated shack hidden behind a row of brittle scrub brush. Its weathered walls had wide cracks so big they could see moonlight filtering through to the other side. The place could barely stand against a stiff wind but could have offered their suspect dry shelter out of the rain.

Her heart raced as she watched Trent dismount, his hand on his .45. When he motioned for her to do the same, she realized this was for real. She swung out of the saddle and removed the shotgun from its scabbard. She took out her six-inch mini-Maglite.

Together, they crept closer to the shed, their eyes searching every corner for any sign of anyone. As they reached the entrance, decay and dust filled their nostrils.

With a signal from Trent, they split up to search the interior, him entering through the front and her going around to the back.

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